Smell of Sand
by lookskindagreyout
Summary: The heat doesn't leave, after the sun goes down. A hit-and-run has terrifying results. Songfic AU; 'Hotel California' Eagles
1. Chapter 1

So, I guess this fic was written because I'm going stir-crazy, since the start of the new year. And because I wanted something fresh, to start out oh-ten, and this concept had been battering about in my brain for a while, and it was finally given shape one strangely hot afternoon of sitting in the car. Good luck trying to figure it out.

_*Fringe is property of Fox Broadcasting; a large, evil corporation bent on world domination. And we love them for it._

1.

When you get past the sloughing stacks of roundish, tan boulders that create a natural break of the swift, hot desert wind, you hit a sand flat, with minimal alterations until you reach the vast planting fields of deep, southern California. The air is unfriendly, there- smelling of people and freeway. The supposed attraction of the place was the solitude, and how the flat-landers can drive out into the middle of nowhere to drive their untagged ATVs and shoot things. But if you keep going, past Plaster City and El Centro and the sweltering orange dusks of the place, it feels like you reach the end of the world.

Peter searched around under the bench seat of the old station wagon, his knuckles gracing the hot floor board, smudging them with grime. At last he found what he was looking for- a scratched bottle of flat, warm Dr. Pepper. Peter up righted himself with a smile, calling, "Walter!" He pushed himself out of the car, smearing sweat onto his forearm and holding up the bottle, "thirsty?"

Walter was kneeling beside a spiny yucca plant at the side of the vacant road, poking at it with a twig. Peter knew it was to mute his raspy coughing, "Do you think that there are armadillos, here?" He questioned.

Peter smiled, "I don't know, Walter. All I know is that you need to keep hydrated, in this heat."

"It's night time," Walter frowned, standing and dusting his jeans. His once black work boots were a dusty, white-grey color, as they scuffed the sand. The sand seemed the same color as his father's skin, in the silver light of the half-moon, marred only by the dark circles around his eyes.

Peter shook his head, "It doesn't matter. Besides, I need you to stay in the car, until I get back with the gas."

"Can't I walk with you, son?" Walter questioned eagerly, reaching for the soda. Peter jokingly held it out of his reach for a few moments, then settled it into his hands.

"Nope."

"But it's night!" Walter insisted, as if the sun going down had anything to do with the extreme temperatures.

"You can't fool me, Walter. I know you haven't been feeling well. Besides, it would probably be a good idea if you caught some z's, to keep up your strength."

Walter shook his head, grimacing, "I'll end up sleeping my days away, if I keep listening to you."

"Then just stick around. But the station is a ways off, and I don't think that you could make it." He sighed as Walter glared at the label of the bottle, "Hey. What if I bring you back an ice cream or something? That's got to sound good."

"Make it one of those string cheese jobbers, and we've got ourselves a deal," Walter muttered.

"Deal," Peter smiled. He strode around the Vista Cruiser to hoist open the hatchback, pushing an old, military-surplus foldable spade aside to get to the yellow, spouted gas can. He hadn't taken into consideration how the heat would affect the car, when they had filled up after leaving the motel 6 that morning, and they had run out of gas long before their plotted destination.

Walter had followed him, and rifled through the junk in the back of the car, finding a wind-up emergency radio. He was fiddling with the knobs as it blared white noise and Peter shut the hatch, hefting the gas jug under his arm.

"Okay, Walter. Just stick next to the car until I get back, okay? I should only be a few hours."

"What if someone comes by?" Walter asked, dropping the radio onto the hood now that he'd grown bored with it.

"Send them my way. I could use the ride," Peter joked.

"Okay, son. Be careful."

"You be careful, too, Walter-" he paused as there was a sudden shimmer of light, on the horizon, making him squint, then smile, "hot damn."

xXx

If you knew anyone to describe Astrid, they would say that she was a girl that worked entirely too hard. Her hours at one job ended when another began, sometimes slurring together until she found herself trying to fold grilled cheese sandwiches at the diner and grill-block ties at the cleaner. This would have seemed laughable, if she had the energy.

Life didn't rush her- it simply drained her. Even now, the sleeves of a few Border Patrol uniforms fluttered mutely through the open gap of her truck window, as she had taken them home in the hopes of finishing sewing on the patches before she caught an hour or two of sleep.

She rubbed her sore eyes and glared at the glowing yellow dashes that passed her headlights, trying to concentrate on the entirely too loud Korn song booming through her nearly blown speakers. She didn't even like the band- but the raw energy of the hateful lyrics kept her alert.

And Yuma was a few hours off, in the numbing dark.

Astrid was running her itinerary through her head as she watched the glare of headlights in her rearview mirrors, "Mind dulling your brights, buddy?" she grumbled, but her sentiments were not audible over the clattering of the truck cab. She knew that she would have to clean the dust from the uniforms when she went back to work the next afternoon…

Her existence was a monotonous routine that was slowly driving her mad.

At times, she wondered if it was worth it.

The Korn song ended with a last, raspy scream of the lyrics _part of me…_, and Astrid could not draw up the strength to reach to the dash and flip the tape over. Instead she drove on in silence, sighing now and again in the dusty, muggy air.

What if she ever got _out_ of Yuma? Finished her online courses, and went on to be a graphic designer in LA, or some place? Met a nice guy, who cooked her breakfast that didn't have to be smothered with ketchup to be remotely edible? Then… what? She could sleep late on Saturdays, get a pedicure when she was feeling down, just because it would make her feel better?

Then… why did it feel like she was stuck, here?

But these thoughts had taken her mind from the road, from her exhausted body, from her slowly drooping eyes. She could feel her eyelashes flick open as her breath caught, and she realized that blood flashed off her windshield, and a telephone pole was crushing the front of her Ford.

xXxx

Peter could remember the altogether vivid details of the accident, even as he stared, reeling, up at the inky sky. The screech of the tires, the tensing of every muscle he possessed, as he braced for impact against the grill of the truck, the sand that stuck to the blood on his skin, and the prickling crunch of his bones snapping as he was pulled under the car, his back burning against the hot muffler as he was rolled into a wad under the wreckage.

The sky was so expansive, out here. It had seemed much smaller, when he was in San Francisco, and it had seemed to grow, as he and his father had gone south. Peter didn't think he'd ever seen the sky so large in his entire life.

"Peter?! Son?! Please- please, god, son, talk to me! Peter-" his father's voice had faltered under a wave of heavy coughing, followed by gasping and choking. Peter blinked to his senses as Walter spat out blood.

"Walter…?"

"Peter!" Water croaked, scrambling to him, "Dear god, Peter, I thought-!" He smeared tears from his eyes, "Are you hurt, son?"

Peter groaned as he slowly sat up, his father's trembling hand supporting him at the lower back, "No, Walter. I- I think I'm alright, actually," Peter blinked in bewilderment at the wrecked truck, folded around a telephone pole, "What…?"

"I don't know. I saw you… I saw you go under, and-!" Walter was wheezing his hand over his chest.

"Walter, calm down. I'm fine, see?" Peter smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder, "The doctor said you shouldn't over stimulate yourself. It's bad for your respiratory system, remember?"

Walter nodded, shutting his eyes as he struggled to even his wheezing breath, "You scared me, Peter."

Peter chuckled, "Sorry."

"Hello?!" Someone questioned, and they looked up. A young woman had emerged from the ruined vehicle, looking frightened, "Is anyone there?!"

"Hello!" Peter called, drawing her attention. He climbed to his feet as she approached. Walter continued to watch them both in a trembling mixture of fear and concern, rubbing his chest.

"Oh my god- did I…?! Jesus, I am so sorry- I-I dozed off, and-"

Peter waved off her comments, "It's alright, no harm done. What about you? Are you alright?"

"I-I think so," she said, clearly shaken. She looked back at the truck, "Jesus, I can't believe it… that's so crazy…"

"Hey, just think what your insurance will say," Peter joked, dusting his jeans, "All that damage and no casualties? Screams fraud, if you ask me."

"I couldn't care less about that thing. Are you sure you're alright?" she questioned.

"Yeah," Peter replied, "I know- I can't believe it, either. To think I was going to flag you down for a ride," he shook his head, chuckling.

"A ride?" she said.

"Yes. My father and I-" Peter motioned to Walter, who continued to stray from them both, as if he could not quite make out what he was seeing, "-ran out of gas, and I was headed to the station for a refill."

"Oh," She said, looking back at her truck, "well… I mean, I don't think that's going anywhere anytime soon, so… I guess you could siphon some gas out, if you wanted. I mean, if you wouldn't mind giving me a ride to a phone or something." she shifted uncomfortably, "but… I mean, I can understand if you don't want to, this is all so crazy…"

"No, no, it's fine," Peter said, "We'd be happy to, wouldn't we, Walter?"

Walter only nodded, wary.

"I'm Peter, Peter Bishop," Peter said, offering her hand.

"Astrid Farnsworth," the woman replied, and they shook hands.

"Well, a run-in doesn't get more abrupt than this," Peter said with a smile, "nice to meet you, I guess."

xXx


	2. Chapter 2

2.

"There's some chips in the back, if you're hungry," Peter offered after a while. Astrid glanced into the back, where Walter had seated himself as far away from her as he could, still watching her nervously. He suddenly thrust the bag toward her, as if to appease her so that she would not harm him.

"No, thank you," Astrid declined.

"Beef jerky? It's kind of peppery, but it's alright."

"I'm not really in the mood," Astrid responded distantly. Truthfully, she felt as if she were in a dream state, as the cool wind slid through her damp hair to caress her scalp, and the moonlit scenery that passed outside the wide station wagon windows became a blur. She slowly shook her head, shutting her eyes in the hopes to quell her odd feelings.

"It could be the after effects of the accident," Walter said, the first words he had spoken to her, and he suddenly shifted awkwardly as she faced him, "you're not feeling sleepy, are you?" He questioned gruffly, as he returned his gaze to the window, as if he were not ready to accept that she existed.

"No," Astrid admitted, "I just feel… strange. Like… calm. But not. Does that make any sense?"

"Miss, you have just been in what should have been, by all accounts, a fatal accident. Nothing will make since, not for a while," Walter said. Astrid found his comment strangely enlightening.

"We'll be alright when we've all settled our nerves," Peter said optimistically. He inhaled the cool breeze of movement deeply and quietly, and Astrid knew that he shared her unsettled feelings.

"So, where are you guys from?" Astrid questioned, "You're not locals, are you?"

"No, no," Peter said with a smile, "We're only on our way through, actually. We were headed for Snowflake."

"It seems like everyone here is passing through," Astrid agreed, "at least, at first, anyways."

"What about you? Do you live around here?"

"I guess you could call it that," Astrid sighed, and Peter chanced a glance at her.

"Not happy?" he questioned.

Astrid shook her head, "I guess I have to be, now. I mean, we both could have died, tonight… there must be a reason we're still here."

"Peter, I'm tired," Walter suddenly said.

"I know, Walter," Peter said, looking at him in the rearview mirror, "I am, too. I promise we'll find a place to stay as soon as we can, okay?"

Astrid noticed that Walter often touched his chest, when he was thinking, as if he were looking for something, "Okay," he responded.

"What about right there?" Astrid questioned, pointing to a road sign that shown white in the headlights, "The _Casa del Sol_?"

"Is it nice, there?" Peter questioned.

Astrid paused, "…I don't know. I know I've seen the sign before, about a million times… but I've never been there. I've never heard about anyone else going there, either."

"Well, it'll have to do," Peter said, taking the turn off, "I'm having trouble keeping my head up. You don't mind, do you? I'm sure they have a phone, there."

"No, it's perfect. Thank you."

"_Casa del Bates_," Walter mumbled as they passed the painted sign. His light tone of offered humor went unheeded.

The road seemed to wind suddenly between steep, red rock, dark grey, in the moonlight, and the hot, dry scent of the desert was swept away by the refreshing smell of wet sand. The air seemed to cool itself as the road traveled through a quiet palm grove, the headlights dulled in the dust from the dirt route. The drive suddenly widened, and they found themselves before the _Casa del Sol_.

The hotel appeared to have been constructed in the same fashion of an old, Spanish mission- the tall, straight angles of the walls were pale and smooth, the nearly flat arches of the roofs scaled with brick-red clay terracotta shingles. Astrid could swear that she could hear the faint, mournful gong of a church bell.

Peter pulled in and shut off the engine, sitting for a few moments in the dark, as if uncertain of what to do next. Finally, he gave Astrid a grin, "Nice pick."

"Yeah," she responded.

Walter seemed to give the hotel a similar look to the one he had given Astrid and Peter after the accident, fingering the ridged and slightly sweaty crew neck of his shirt.

"Well, let's go," Peter said, snapping free of his seatbelt and opening the door.

The soft wind was an audible _hush_, among the palms, adding to the strange serenity of the place, as they climbed the steps onto the wide, wooden porch. Wicker furniture and small, potted cacti decorated the places near the wide, double front doors, which opened before they had a chance to reach them.

The silhouette of someone holding a candle above their head met them, and the stranger exclaimed suddenly, bringing the taper down to cradle the flame away from the breeze with their palm. This illuminated their features- a woman with her hair loose about her shoulders and a welcoming smile on her face, "Hello," she said, still trying to protect the small light, but allow them enough visibility to cross the porch, "I thought I heard someone pull up. Welcome to _Casa del Sol_."

xXx

The first thing that he noticed was that there were no cobwebs, near the door. Walter admitted that even he thought that this was a strange observation, and he had a hard time grasping the significance of what his mind had pointed out to him, until other oddities began to surface.

No crickets.

No birds.

Nothing but the wind.

He suddenly felt as if his breathing were out-of-place, here, and chanced a glance back toward the car, as Peter made greetings with their host. Fear twinged the back of his neck, as he watched the shadows of palms silently sway over the sand, and the car appeared to have been devoured by them. Walter swallowed, rubbing his sternum.

Peter addressed him quietly, drawing his attention back to the situation at hand, "How are you doing? How are you breathing?"

"Alright," Walter responded, "I'm still a little sore."

"Well, I'm going to get us some rooms and have you rest up. I don't want you having another attack."

"Peter, why don't they have lights, here?" Walter questioned, still on edge.

"There's a blackout roaming the area- they say the power should be back up soon. Come on."

"Shouldn't we get some of our things from the car?" Walter asked uneasily, looking back at the station wagon again. The moon, in its shifting, had further steeped it in shadow.

"They'll be there in the morning," Peter took his father by the shoulders, leading him forward and through the front door. Walter strained his ears for even the distant keen of a coyote, before the night was shut out behind them.

xXx

The woman who had met them at the door lead them to the front desk, dimly lit in the light of a few candelabras. Her light hair seemed to glow, in the twilighting, "Hey, Charlie- I was right. There was someone," She smiled as she motioned to the awkward group of them.

A dark-haired man behind the desk raised his eyebrows as he got up from his seat, looking surprised, "Oh, hey," he said, "Welcome to _Casa del Sol_. Are you folks going to be staying with us, then?"

"For a bit," Peter responded.

Charlie chuckled, "Sure."

"Um, I won't," Astrid said with an uneasy grin, raising her hand slightly, "I just needed to use the phone, my car… broke down, hah hah."

"You're not together?" Charlie questioned, glancing between Astrid and Peter.

"No," Peter said with a grin, "Really, it's been kind of a crazy night."

"I'm sure it has," Charlie agreed, drawing up a large ledger and flipping it open, "well, I hate to be a killjoy, but this place is devoid of a phone, right now. A sandstorm recently came through and took down one of the relay towers."

Astrid cursed, and Peter put a hand on her shoulder, "Hey. Don't worry about it. Stay the night, Walter and I will drive you out in the morning."

"Thanks, but-"

"I said don't worry about it. You're bound to be just as tired as we are."

Astrid looked truly grateful, "Thank you."

"She can stay in my room," Walter offered suddenly. Then, he turned red, "I mean- I'll stay in your room, Peter. She can take the room I was going to use, I mean. It's her room, now." Walter cleared his throat, "Presumably. With equivalent exchange. N'stuff." and went to investigate a decretory plant across the lobby.

Peter chuckled, shaking his head as he delved into his pocket for his wallet.

Charlie suddenly shook his head, "Nah. We have a policy, here- you pay tomorrow. Sort of a quality assurance," Charlie smiled, "I just need you to sign the ledger, the three of you."

"Oh. Cool beans," Peter said, scribbling his name on the line and grabbing his key, "I'll probably need an ATM anyways."

Astrid signed, taking up her key without a word, and Peter turned to call to his father, "Walter! Come on over an sign in."

Charlie suddenly snapped the book shut, "It's alright, it's just for record. Enjoy your stay, at _Casa del Sol_."

xXx


	3. Chapter 3

3.

"This'll be cold."

"_Duh._"

Peter chuckled, shaking his head, "I'm just warning you. I hate these damn things, and the doctors never give you a warning…" He pressed the cold disk of a stethoscope to his father's chest, under his shirt, and he could feel the goose bumps start on his skin as he listened quietly- not for the dull throb of a pulse, but the gentle heave and rush of air entering and exiting his fragile lungs.

Peter blinked in confusion, and relocated the device, listening as Walter took another breath. He plucked the earplugs out as he placed a hand on Walter's forehead, looking at his pupils, "Are you sure you've been feeling alright?" Peter questioned.

"Tired," Walter answered, "but really… I'm fine. I don't know why, but… it doesn't even hurt, Peter."

Peter's brows furrowed in confusion as he stowed the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff back into Walter's black leather medical bag, "That's good to hear. But after the accident… I just thought you would be having a worse reaction than this, is all."

"Looking a gift horse in the mouth, son," Walter said with a small smile, rising from his seat on the side of the hotel bed, "And you're the last one to be speaking of proper reactions. I saw that car… I _saw _it, Peter, and you-"

"I'm alright, Walter," Peter interrupted, "And apparently, so are you, and Astrid, too. There's nothing to worry about- we got really lucky, tonight. That's all there is to it." Peter dropped the bag into an empty dresser drawer, kicking it shut, "besides, just look at this place, it's amazing."

"It makes me want enchiladas," Walter admitted, motioning to the rustic, Hispanic-themed decorum, a mixture of warm reds, off-whites, and teal.

"What I mean to say is that if all of this had never happened, we would have just passed this place up like everyone else. We've just got to take everything in stride- what's the worst that can happen?"

"They could be out of enchiladas," Walter replied, fiddling with the curtains. Peter stepped forward, taking him by the shoulder and pulling the curtains away from him, "Why don't you go have a look around? Ask if they have some leftovers for the night owls."

Walter shrugged, "Okay."

"Try not to get lost," Peter called after him as he shut the door. Peter sighed, shaking his head as he returned to fixing the curtains. His attention was drawn to movement in the dusky courtyard, and a sudden flash as the power returned, lighting the chili-pepper lights strung festively across the frond-top pagoda bar, and the red lights shimmered off her blond hair. She raised her head to look at them with a smile and give a small cheer, which Peter could not hear.

He blinked, realizing that it was the same woman that had met them in the front of the hotel, whom had disappeared before he could properly meet her. Not that she had anything to be shy about- her denim cut-offs revealed a smooth tan, and her white tee-shirt had been twisted and tied to the side in an effort to stave off the desert heat, and both accented a flawless figure. Who was she? Another patron?

Peter decided that he wanted to buy her a drink.

xXx

Astrid looked up as there was a knock at her door, and she shifted the damp towel on her shoulders as she went to the peep hole, squinting into it. Someone snuffed the hole with their thumb, and she retracted slightly, then slid on the night chain, pulling the door open a crack, "Hello…?"

"Hello," Walter stood in front of her door, his hands in his pockets as he gazed off down the hall. He at last glanced at her, and they stood blinking at each other in silence.

_Awkward turtle._ "Is there something you wanted, Walter?" Astrid questioned politely, removing the chain and pulling the door open further.

"Oh!" Walter exclaimed, and cleared his throat, "I just- I was about to go down and see what I could gather in the field of vittles, and wondered if perhaps you… y'know, wanted anything." He scratched the back of his neck uneasily.

"You mean… food?"

"Vittles," Walter fidgeted, "Food. Yes. I mean, I understand that you are probably exhausted, after such endeavors, and I would be more than happy to bring it up to you, if you'd like."

"Oh," Astrid smiled, "that's really sweet, Walter. But, I'm not feeling very hungry," Truthfully, she didn't know just how she felt. She had thought that taking a shower would have cleared her thoughts, perhaps at last relent in her odd feelings, but nothing had come of it but wet hair, "Thanks anyways, though."

Walter only shrugged one shoulder, "Very well." and he turned on his heel, starting down the hall.

"I'll walk with you, if you want," Astrid offered, and he paused. She doffed her towel onto the nearby dresser and plucked a few wet strands out of her eyes. She stuffed her key into her back pocket and shut the door behind herself to follow after him, "Wait up, Walter."

They were pushing open the door to the outdoor corridor when the lights overhead flickered and came on, bathing them in a sudden bluish light. They heard distant cheers, and continued on their way.

"Maybe the phones are back up," Astrid said hopefully.

"Who will you be calling?" Walter questioned.

Astrid thought for a few moments, "A tow truck, I guess. But I guess it can wait until the morning, since I'm staying here for the night."

"Do you have anyone that you need to contact?" Walter asked, slowing as he looked out over the empty pool, the bottom scattered with dark eucalyptus leaves and dust.

"Like who?"

"I don't know. Your folks, a sibling, your husband…"

Astrid laughed, "My parents live in Maine. My mom, anyways. I don't have any brothers or sisters, and I'll be damned if I marry a local. So no, Walter- I don't have anyone to deal with my problems for me."

Walter glanced at her, "I'm sorry then." Astrid raised a brow questioningly, and he shrugged, "I always have Peter, to deal with my problems. He treats them like they're his own. I love him dearly, but… sometimes I want to keep my problems to myself, so I won't bother him. A bit like you, miss…?"

"Astrid." Astrid sighed, sliding her hands into her pockets as she gazed up at the dull moon, "How old are you, Walter?" She questioned.

"Sixty…" He paused, concentrating, "…two. Why?"

"You've seen a lot of things, haven't you?"

"More than I care to admit."

"Have you ever seen someone like me make it? In the world, I mean." She stammered, as he looked at her quizzically, "I know it sounds stupid. But, sometimes I don't think that good things happen to people like me… that I'm just lying to myself to keep myself going, and I don't even know where it's all going to end up."

"I would say that I don't know enough about you to answer. But I can tell you, with a great deal of painful personal experience, that no part of life should be spent waiting." He opened the door for her politely, and followed after her, "Now, tell me if you smell enchiladas, in the vicinity."

xXx


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Peter slipped into the bench seat at the end of the dimly lit bar, still watching her out of the corner of his eye. He jumped only slightly as someone asked, "What can I get you?"

Peter looked up at the tall, bald bartender, "Uh- a beer."

"Oh- you're the new guy, aren't you? Philip Broyles," he offered his hand over the bar, "Welcome to _Casa del Sol_."

"Peter Bishop," Peter replied, shaking his hand, "yeah, I guess I am the new guy."

"Is it just you, then?" Philip questioned, passing a chilled Budweiser to him with a coaster, "Staying with us, I mean."

"Yes- I mean, no. I'm here with my father and a friend, and we're only staying the night." Peter murmured his thanks as he lifted the beer to take a drink.

"You look a little wiped out. 'You okay?"

"Yeah. Listen-" Peter covertly nodded toward the blonde at the other end of the bar, chatting and joking quietly with Charlie, "who's she, do you know?"

Philip glanced in her direction, and smiled, "Who, Olivia? Hey 'Liv!" he called, and she looked up, "come here for a second!"

Peter frowned, muttering "Thanks, man," into his beer, as Olivia rose from her seat with a look of interest, slinking her way down the bar toward them.

"This is my buddy Peter," Philip said, unconsciously polishing a shot glass- a traditionally bartender thing to do, Peter noted, "He wanted to say hi."

"Well, hello to you, too, Peter," Olivia smiled, offering her hand, "I'm Olivia, Olivia Dunham. Sorry I had to take off before I could catch your name, we were getting some of the power issues sorted out."

"Yeah. Hey, no problem," Peter replied, shaking her hand, "I'm Peter Bishop."

Olivia took a seat, "So, where are your friends?"

"Oh- Astrid went to bed, and I don't blame her. Walter's looking for something to eat."

Olivia smiled at him quizzically, then glanced at Philip, who shrugged, then moved off to talk to Charlie, "So, you and her…?" Olivia questioned.

"Oh- no. We only just met, really," Peter chuckled taking another drink of his beer, "If you could call it that, I mean."

"What do you mean?" Olivia questioned, standing and stretching over the bar to grab a beer. Peter forced his eyes away from her smooth curves.

"Well, this is going to sound totally crazy… and it really hasn't sunk in for me yet, either, but… she hit me with a car. Our car ran out of gas, and I went to flag her down… I guess she fell asleep, and slipped off the road. I don't remember much, but Walter says she hit me, knocked me on my ass. A small wonder that neither of us were hurt," Peter shook his head again, "I don't believe it either, don't worry."

Olivia laughed, "I've heard crazier. All of us have some pretty wild stories, here. And if we don't have them, we make them up, if only to pass the time."

"What are you, around here? Do you work here, or are you just staying?" Peter questioned.

Olivia sighed, blowing a stray lock of hair from her eyes, "Ah, a little of both, I guess. All of us are a little like that. One night you just stop in, and when you blink, you've just become a part of the place."

"What do you mean?"

She smiled again, a humor that seemed tired, "Take Charlie, for example. Now, officially, he's the night manager. But he's just like us- he stopped in, and just stayed on. He used to be a beat cop in New York, when he stopped a mafia shipment of illegal moonshine. He thought he would get in good, for it… but it turns out his partner was dirty, and shot him in the back."

"But… why would the Mafia be dealing in something as small as moon shining? Alcohol is legal."

"I told you the stories were crazy, didn't I?"

"What about you? What's your story?"

She took a drink and shook her head, "That's a story for another time."

xXx

Walter was pondering the walnuts in a bowl on the counter of the empty buffet, and eventually decided that they were too dusty, for his taste. He looked up for any sign of life, and found none- Astrid had gone off in search of anyone that could help them, but some time had passed, since she had gone. Walter quelled his uneasy feeling by giving the shiny bell on the counter a chime, then muting it with his palm.

The silence seemed stuffy, in the empty place, and his eyes traveled over the dim expanses of white tablecloths to rest at last on the dark door of the kitchen. He glanced around suspiciously, then crossed the restaurant, craning his neck to peek into one of the small door portholes. The bright sheen of stainless steel surfaces beckoned him, in the dark, and Walter glanced over his shoulder before he pushed his way inside.

He paused as the door swung shut behind him, blinking until his eyes had adjusted to the dark. He began to register the low surfaces of linoleum worktables, and the hanging racks of utensils, as he ventured further inside, and he was reminded, nostalgically, of his days as a sues chef, when he was working his way through school. When he would sneak in, after a long day, and make himself a little something…

He wondered how long it had been, since he had made his way around a kitchen.

Walter surmised that he could shake off the mental dust that covered the culinary skills he possessed and whip up some enchiladas, now that he had the chance. It might even be a good chance to impress that young lady, to rub off the initial shock and bad impression of the accident.

Walter searched around and eventually found his way to the walk-in, flipping on the light in the strangely barren pantry as he hauled open the large freezer door, pushing aside the broad plastic strips that obscured his path. He was humming to himself cheerfully and tunelessly as he scanned the shelves, taking up a bag of shredded cheese and a stack of frozen tortillas. He was pondering where he could get a few fresh tomatoes when he pushed aside a hanging side of beef and a face met his own.

Walter stumbled back, dropping his acquired articles as his shoulders collided with a stack of boxes, and he lost his footing, landing hard on the cement. His inhale suddenly stung, in his chest, and his breath caught in his throat. He grasped at the stitch in his chest as he stared up at a frozen body, hanging from the meat rack.

Walter struggled to draw a rattling breath, pushing himself back, away from the body and against the wall. His lungs burned, and he found himself coughing uncontrollably, wheezing with pain. He held his hands over his mouth as he stared into sightless, glazed eyes, and hot blood trickled through the gap in his fingers. He tried to call out, and only choked.

Hands seized his collar, dragging him to his feet and forcing his terrified gaze away from the horrifying sight before him. Walter now locked eyes with a tall, bald, pale stranger, who frowned, "You aren't supposed to be here," he said, his hairless brows furrowing.

Walter wheezed inaudibly, his chest feeling as if it were being torn apart. He pushed the stranger away, covering his mouth as he coughed into the crook of his arm. He was growing dizzy, and lost his footing, falling forward. The stranger caught him before he met the slab, and he spiraled out of consciousness.

xXx


	5. Chapter 5

5.

September watched the unresponsive Walter in his arms for a few moments, as his body quaked and his lungs stuttered for breath. Carefully- September knew he had to be careful, this man was fragile- he shifted Walter in his arms, touching his palm to his chest, murmuring something quietly. Slowly, Walter's breathing began to even, his face unwinding from his grimace of pain.

September laid his listless form out on the cement, rising and stepping back as his mind whizzed with activity. Doctor Walter Bishop- he knew him, they'd met before. After the fire, at the chemical lab Walter used to work at. Doctor Bishop had died, that night, only to be pulled back from the other side, his lungs permanently blistered in what was a fatal form of chemical anthracosis. But Walter's heroism had been in vein- the assistant he had plunged in to the fire to save had died shortly after he had pulled her out, and flames that had proven fatal for her had only scarred Walter from the inside out.

For years September had watched, as Bishop's condition only worsened, causing him first to retire, then lose his wife, and eventually land him a residence in the hospital. Different treatments, different medications… these only regulated the times Walter passed between one world and the next.

September supposed that he should probably take the good doctor back up to his room. He guessed that if he looked over his schedule again, and the hotel roster, he could see if perhaps he had made a mistake, but he doubted he had.

He stooped to gather Walter from the floor, pulling his arm across his shoulders and rising with a grunt of effort. Slowly he began to drag Walter across the walk-in, pushing his way into the darkened kitchen. He paused as he heard a quiet call, "Walter…?"

September slumped Walter onto the floor against a cabinet, and emerged quietly from the kitchen, smoothing down the creases of his dark suit as he approached the curly-hair girl, whom was peering into the dark corners of the room, searching for her missing companion. "Can I help you?" September suddenly questioned, making her jump and turn.

"Oh- ah- hello," She smiled, striking a stray curl from her eyes, "I-I'm looking for my friend, he was in here a little while ago? An older guy, sort of grayish-brown hair, white shirt and blue jeans- have you seen him?"

September tilted his head slightly, lying, "No."

She blinked, "Oh. Well, I was just… we were just looking for someone that could help us… he was hungry, so…"

"There are vending machines posted in the hallways, near the ice machines," September replied calmly, "but the kitchen is closed until six o'clock tomorrow morning, I'm sorry."

"It's alright," She assured him, "But… if you see him, do you think you could send him my way?"

"Certainly," September replied. After an awkward silence, she gave him a small smile, and left the restaurant.

September returned to the kitchen, pulling Walter to his feet again, and dragging him along, "Someone's looking for you, Walter," he said quietly.

xXx

"So, what about you, then? What's your story?" Peter questioned.

"Which one?" Olivia smirked, arching a brow.

"Whichever one you feel like telling me," Peter replied.

"Good answer. Well, since you're going to find out anyways… I'm a murderer."

Peter paused in his drink, uncertain of how to respond.

Olivia laughed, "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. You see, when I was growing up, I lived with my sister and my mother in some gee-dunk town in Arizona. Now, my mom… not the smartest woman, I have to say. She liked some real creeps. And sometimes, the creeps didn't like just her."

"You and your sister…?" Peter questioned, shocked.

"Yeah. Until I was fifteen. My sister was twelve, when we decided to run away. But Rachel… she just wouldn't. She said it was terrible, to leave our mother behind. I had to leave them both.

"Years went by. I moved on with my life- I was in the army, wouldn't you know? Well, I was stateside, one time, when I got a call from my sister. She said that her husband was, you know… with my little niece. So, I went AWOL and drove to Arizona, and put a bullet in his brain."

"Then what?" Peter questioned quietly.

Olivia downed the rest of her drink, "Then there was the police, then I came here."

"Rehabilitation?"

Olivia looked at him, her eyes filled with green sparks that made his stomach shutter, "Sure, we'll go with that."

"So that's your story?"

"I've got another one about circus monkey, would you rather hear that one?"

"But what you did wasn't wrong," Peter said, "You were protecting your family."

"Like you?" Olivia arched a brow with a sneer.

"No. I'm not protecting Walter." Peter took a drink of his beer, and looked down into the bottleneck for a while, "I'm just making the best of the time that's left, for him."

"How long does he have?" Olivia questioned.

"A few weeks. A month, maybe. And after all of the stuff that's happened, tonight…" Peter shook his head.

"We've all got to go sometime," Olivia replied.

xXx


	6. Final Chapter

FINAL CHAPTER.

His neck itched with sweat, the pillow under his head soaked when he at last opened his eyes. His chest felt bruised, as his breath rushed in and out freely, articulating small moans. Was that what it had been? A bad dream? Walter reached up to rub the back of his hand across his parched lips, and he felt the grain of dried blood fall away from his cheek to stick to his sweat. It hadn't been a dream, there had been a person, in that freezer-

"You need to be calm. You will have another attack, if you do not remain calm."

Walter started with surprise as the man from the walk-in stared down at him from his bedside, his expression unchanging, "Who are you?!" Walter demanded, "Where am I?! Where is Peter?!"

"All things in stride, Walter."

"How do you know my name?!" Walter said, a slight squeak of fear in his voice, as he pulled the sheets up to his neck.

"You enjoy questions?" the stranger asked, barely tilting his head and furrowing his featureless brows, as if he were having difficulty understanding. Walter thought he looked like one of the chemo patients that had frequented the dayroom, before he had been discharged from the hospital. They had all been so pale.

Walter paused for a moment in his panic, "Yes," he replied.

"Do the answers make you happy?"

"Sometimes. But seriously, who are you? What is going on?"

"I have many names. You may call me September. When they told you that you had only a few months to live, did that make you happy?"

Walter's eyes narrowed, "How did you…?"

"I have no happy answers for you, Walter Bishop. You never ask happy questions." September's pauses were felt more like gathering storms, "But you do not belong here."

xXx

Astrid glanced around the vacant lobby, beginning to worry about Walter's disappearance. Now that the power had been restored and the lobby was lit, she could see how spacious it was- large glass doors she had not noticed before looking out onto a wood patio with a view of the surrounding palm grove, A black piano away in the corner near the stairs, and a wide archway into a common room. But, even in the growing spender of the hotel, it all seemed so… empty.

And, truthfully, creepy.

Astrid passed the front desk on her way to the doors, and she jumped as Charlie suddenly asked, "Something I can get you?"

Astrid smiled sheepishly as she calmed herself, "Oh, no, nothing. Um, have you seen Walter around?" Charlie emerged from behind the desk, where she had not seen him, before.

"The old guy? No. Is something wrong?"

"I can't find him."

"It's late, he could have gone back to his room," Charlie smiled, "he didn't seem like much of a night owl. Now you, on the other hand…" he chuckled, "want to hit the pagoda? I'll get you a beer on the house. I'm important, like that."

Astrid smiled back at him, "I'd like to, but-"

"Oh- my bad, I didn't know that you two-"

"No! No, I mean, we're not- we just met, I was only-"Astrid stammered, her features heating suddenly.

Charlie laughed again, shaking his head, "Calm down, it was just a joke. If it worries you that much, I'll have a look around, okay?"

"Okay," Astrid said, slightly relieved, "The last place I saw him was the diner, we were looking for something to eat."

"You're hungry?" Charlie questioned, as he lead her toward the common room and away from the front doors.

"No. But Walter is." Astrid chuckled, "Wherever he is."

xXx

"Dance with me," Olivia said at last, doffing her empty drink onto the bartop and extending her hand to him with a smile.

Peter laughed, "No one else is dancing," he replied, looking out at the vacant patio.

"That's because everyone else is boring," Olivia said with a chuckle, "come on. I promise I won't make you look stupid."

"You make me feel stupid enough," Peter admitted.

"I'm a woman, it's what we do," Olivia conceded, rising and taking his hand, pulling him out onto the floor.

Peter didn't consider himself a bad dancer, and he was soon made aware that Olivia was no amateur herself. Her movements were smooth, and naturally complex- a rhythmic swaying and sliding that was hypnotizing, coiling and uncoiling herself, flexing her claws like a predator dominating its prey. Peter caught himself time and again failing in step, his eyes taking him where his movements could not, and each time, Olivia only gave him that same, dangerous smile, and slowed down for him to catch up.

"Peter," she whispered in his ear, and he did not have to answer as she continued, "Would you care, if you were dead?"

"You've had too much to drink," Peter chuckled, but even as he said it, she watched him with a serious face.

"Not nearly enough. If you were gone… what would you leave behind?" Olivia leaned in to his ear again, "What keeps you alive, Peter?"

He felt her muscles sway under his hands, and his lids eased themselves shut, "Nothing," he replied at last.

She chuckled, "Good."

xXx

"What do you mean?" Walter questioned, "This isn't my room?"

September had paused for a moment, somehow unprepared at the misinterpretation of his comments, and he blinked only once as he stumbled in his seriousness.

Walter was sitting up, taking in his surroundings, "This has to be my room. See, those are my boots, and there's my fleece, and Peter's things are over there-"

"I don't mean that this isn't your room, Walter," September clarified.

"Oh, good. Because it was just be entirely too awkward, if this was your room."

"I don't have a room," September said.

"Really? Well, I suppose you could stay in here, if you like-"

"You have to listen to me, Walter," September cut in seriously, "Something has gone wrong. You are not supposed to be here, not yet."

"I'm sorry?" Walter said, arching a brow.

"This place- you must have felt that it's different than other places," September explained calmly, "It must feel strange, to you."

"It's very nice, here," Walter admitted, "But yes, I'm going to bet that not many other hotels have bodies, in the kitchen walk-in."

"Haven't you been wondering why your breathing has been so strange?"

Walter raised a hand to place it across his chest, looking thoughtful, "Like… why it isn't hurting, all the time?"

"Yes."

Walter smiled, "No, I haven't thought a lot about it."

September frowned, "Then perhaps you should, Dr. Bishop." September rose from his seat at Walter's bedside and going to the window to move aside the curtain softly, "Let me show you."

Hesitantly, Walter pushed his blankets aside, his palm flat to his chest in his nervousness as he followed after September, craning his neck to look out of the window, but retain his distance.

September returned his eyes to the empty pool and twilit patio below, "That is your son, Dr. Bishop?" he questioned, "dancing with that woman?"

"Yes." Walter let out a small chuckle, and September glanced at him, "I knew he wasn't a lost cause."

September ignored his comment, "You saw that your son was stuck, in the accident?"

"Yes. What are you getting at? How did you-"

"Observe," September said simply. And with his word, the façade of the place began to fall apart. Walter exclaimed and stepped back, his eyes wide as paint began to peel from the walls, the curtains shred themselves, the glass shatter and fall. The roof began to cave, dust flittering to the now barren and gapped floorboards, cold wind and moonlight rushing in on them as rib bones reality were at last revealed, "This place is different from any other place," September continued, raising his voice of over the tremendous rattling and quaking, "because it is not real. Your son is dead, Dr. Bishop- and you are not."

xXx

"You said you saw him in the kitchen, last?" Charlie questioned.

"Yes," Astrid confirmed, as they were looking around the dark, empty place, "I went to go look for him, and when I got back, he was gone. I asked this bald guy if he had seen him…" Astrid shook her head. Charlie glanced at her in surprise, "What?"

"The bald guy. He was wearing a suit, right? And a grey fedora?"

"Yeah, I guess. Why? Who is he?"

Charlie chuckled lightly, "I guess you could say that he runs the place. Short of me. Like… the owner, I guess. But what I don't understand is why he would be showing up at a time like this…" he paused, "The old guy… you said he was hungry?"

"Yeah?" Astrid answered, confused, "Why?"

Charlie abruptly turned on his heel, fairly jogging back in to the lobby, and Astrid followed after him, as he hauled up the hotel roster, slamming it on the desk and ripping it open. His fingertips were trembling slightly as he traced over the penned names, "He didn't sign in," Charlie murmured tensely, "You signed in, the other guy signed in… Walter didn't sign in."

"Why does that matter?" Astrid demanded.

"They have to sign in, it's how he keeps the records. It shows who passes and who stays… There's no checking out, if you've signed in." There was a sudden rumbling, and a shutter in the floor, as Charlie looked sick, "I always hate this part."

"What-" Astrid paused as something warm trickled down her face, and she raised her hand to wipe it away, before the metallic scent of blood his her nostrils. Her mouth gaped open, as her fingers traced over the grains of glass imbedded into the skin of her cheek.

Charlie shook his head down at his prohibition-era, navy-blue police uniform, three large exit wounds darkening his chest with blood. He sighed, leaning back against the now crippled and warped front desk, "It's always so overdramatic."

xXx

Peter gave a cry as his ribs caved in, and he collapsed forward, against Olivia, "Damn it!" She hissed, and supported him as his ribs began to splinter and cave, "Hang in there, Peter, just hang in there. It'll be over soon."

"What- what's happening-?" Peter contorted, his feet slipping out from under him as he sprawled on the patio, his spine giving a sickening crack, "What's going on?!"

"Calm down," Olivia said, leaning over him, "it happens to all of us. Usually after new guests arrive." Peter stared at the bullet holes in her forehead and cheek, leaking crimson lines down her pail skin.

"What is this?!" Peter demanded, looking around wildly from his curled position at the other guests. Philip only continued to wipe down the faded, chipped bar top, his features solemn as the slash in his throat bled on to his white tuxedo collar.

"It's how we died, Peter," Olivia explained, "all of us."

And just as quickly as it had happened, Peter blinked, and it was over. Faint music still buzzed over the radio, the chili-pepper lights swinging in the slight, cool breeze. Olivia watched him coolly as he sat up, patting his shirt front, where only moments before had been collapsed horribly. Olivia's wounds had disappeared, and Philip only turned to polishing the shot glasses, over the glossy, flawless finish of the bar.

"Are you alright?" Olivia questioned.

"Yeah," Peter answered breathlessly, "I must have passed out for a second, things just went all crazy…"

"I didn't know you'd died in a car accident," Olivia confessed simply. Peter stared, stunned.

"Peter!" Peter looked up as his father arrived, his eyes wild with fear, "We have to get out of here! There's this place-!"

Peter looked back at Olivia, then to his father. He climbed to his feet, his knees feeling weak, "Peter, don't-" Olivia started, but was cut short as he grabbed Walter by the shoulder, and they darted for the lobby, "You can't leave, Peter!" she called after him, "You signed the roster, there's no going back!"

xXx

Astrid looked up from the blood on her hands as the door to the patio banged open, shattered glass scattering across the floor, "Astrid!" Peter cried, we have to get out of here!" his progress was halted as Charlie was suddenly before him, gripping him by the arm to sling him over, onto the floor.

"Peter!" Walter exclaimed, starting for Charlie before someone grasped his collar, forcing him back against the wall. The bald stranger from the kitchen was expressionless as he held his struggling form.

"Stop it!" Olivia emerged from the patio, stepping through the broken framework of the door, "All of you! This is ridiculous!"

"What's going on, here? Why did everything just fall apart?" Astrid questioned, still quaking with shock, "this place… what's wrong with this place?" she looked to Walter, then to Peter, who was still struggling on the floor, "Where the hell are we?"

"A place between existence," the bald stranger answered calmly, "A place of waiting, to pass. You are here, in this purgatory… until some better judgment may dictate your leaving."

"What about the roster?" Astrid said, glancing back at the open book, "Charlie said that something about the records…"

"The roster cements your acceptance. Once it is signed, there is no returning."

Astrid eyes began to well with tears, "We're dead, aren't we?"

Peter suddenly broke free of Charlie's hold, gripping the stranger and tearing him away from his father, "Walter, go! Get out of here! Run!"

"Peter-"

"I said go!"

Walter glanced at Astrid as Charlie started for him, and he ducked aside, his fleeting footsteps taking him across the lobby. He burst through the front doors, stumbled down the steps, and disappeared into the night.

"How far do you expect him to get?" the bald stranger questioned softly, dusting his lapels as Peter released them.

"What are you talking about?!" Peter demanded.

"He's already dying, Peter. How far will he get, in the heat of the day?"

"Shut up!" Peter snarled, gripping him by the collar again, "You can't have him, you bastard!"

"The choice is not mine," the stranger continued calmly, "Those who die, must die. You will see your father soon enough."

"You're bastards!" Peter snarled, shoving the bald man away as tears welled in his eyes, "We can just let him die! We have to do something!" His panic only grew into hysteria as the other guests watched him, silent and motionless, "He can make it! We-we just have to-"

"Peter," Olivia said softly, stepping forward to touch his shoulder, "It's okay, really-"

"No! Don't touch me!"

"He won't suffer long," The stranger said, "His lungs will seize, in the heat. I can promise you that it will be nearly painless."

"Shut up! Walter isn't going to die! Not if we do something!" Peter pushed past Charlie and Olivia, who made no attempt to stop him as he rushed to the door, "Walter!" He yelled into the dark, "Keep running! Don't stop!" He scratched tears away from his face as his voice broke, "Don't stop…"

"Peter," Olivia repeated, and he looked back at her, staring into her envy-green irises as if transfixed, "We've all got to go sometime."

xXx

Epilogue.

She stepped into the threshold of the hacienda-like hotel, her glances nervous, but curious. She was glad to be out of the sun and heat, in any case, and a cool breeze drifted past her like a breath, from deep within the place. Her footsteps took her into the lobby, and she was impressed at the authentic decorum, as she paused for a few moments to examine a painted pot. At last she moved on to the front desk, pausing again before she chimed the small desk bell, and she waited.

"Hello, how can I help you?" someone questioned almost immediately, and she started slightly. The dark-haired man behind the counter smiled calmingly.

"Yes, hello. I was wondering if perhaps I could rent a room, for the night?"

"Why certainly, ma'am. All I need is for you to sign in," he produced a thick, leather-bound ledger, opening it before her on the desk and producing a pen.

She took the pen, jotting down her appellation, "I certainly hope this place will be better than the last. The other night I stayed at an inn in Mexico, and there were the most terrible noises, like gunshots…" she paused in confusion, raising her hand to touch her brow, "and I must have been very tired, because I got the worst headache I'd ever had."

"Well, don't you fret about anything like that here, miss…" he looked down at the ledger, "Sharp."

"Please, call me Nina," she said.

"I'm Charlie. And don't hesitate to call me, if you need anything at all. Peter!" He called, and a young, unshaven man and a blonde woman emerged from the patio, "Could you carry Nina's things up to her room?"

Peter smiled, "I'd love to. Welcome to _Casa del Sol_, Nina." And his blonde companion smiled and nodded. Peter set to gathering up her matching leather luggage, and Charlie handed over her brass room key.

"Oh- I don't know if you take my credit card," Nina said, and Charlie shook his head.

"We have a satisfaction guarantee," the blonde explained, "if you're not happy with your stay, at _Casa Del Sol_, you don't pay."

"I'll try not to be too demanding," Nina replied, delighted.

They crossed the lobby toward the stairs, and Nina was surprised to find that the piano music that she had assumed was coming from the sound system was actually being played by an older, grey-haired man, seated at a black, baby-grand piano, "Hey, Walter," Peter said, and he looked up, "Play us something that doesn't sound like a funeral precession- we've got guests. This is Nina," he nodded toward Nina, who waved.

Walter smiled and nodded, re-positioning his fingers on the keys, "For Nina, then," and he began to drum out a jazzy tune that was somehow familiar.

"I like that song," A young woman with lively, mocha-brown curls approached Walter, placing a coaster onto the piano, followed by a glass of iced tea. She sat beside him, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

They continued up the stairs, and down the hall to her room, "Well, this is it," Peter said, opening the door and moving inside to settle her luggage on the dresser and single bed, "It's not much, but it's relaxing."

"Wonderfully so," Nina agreed, looking around the well-lit room, "this is fantastic."

"It's peaceful. Hey, once you get settled in, why don't you come on down to the pagoda? I'll get Philip to give you one on the house."

"Sounds good," Nina said.

"Good. Enjoy your stay, Nina." Peter chuckled and waved off her tip, shutting the door behind himself.

Nina knew she was going to give this place a high rating, in her travel column- if only for hospitality alone.

xXx

END.


End file.
